The Feeling of a Killer
by FirelordMee-Ya
Summary: A one-shot from the POV of one of Sylar's victims. OC. Slightly gory.


**A/N: **Okay, I know I should be working on the Strawberry Swing, but I felt really angsty and stuff, so I did this! And no, it isn't Twilight, it's Heroes. Deal with it.

Just a bit of warning, this is a little gory. I don't think it's that bad, but if you have a majorly light stomach, you might want to re-think reading it.

**Disclaimer: **Je ne possède pas Heroes.

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The tall pine trees reached up to the shy, creating a dark and foreboding cathedral-like roof. The needles dripped with rainwater and blocked out the sun. Forest seemed to go on forever in an endless maze that could not be escaped from, no matter how hard the attempt. Prickles and scraggly brush tore at Emily's jeans and ripped at her bare arms. She fervently rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to bring some feeling to her numb limbs as she stumbled through the woods. She suddenly felt another wave of sickness and leaned over a huckleberry bush to vomit. Wiping at her mouth, she scoffed at her own weakness.

_You've been dealing with this for years, girl!_ She thought, _Why choose now to loosen up?_

It isn't like they can help it. Normal people do not understand. They call her freak and psychopath, but they just do not understand. It isn't like they can stop _feeling_.

But she wished dearly that they could. Because their feelings _hurt_ so _much_. When they were angry, it felt as if a hook was in her gut, ripping and shredding her insides. When they are sad it was hard to breathe, as if someone was closing a hand around her throat. When they felt anything, rejection, denial, hurt, betrayal, disappointment, anxious, _anything_, it left the taste of bile and blood on her tongue and a twisting feeling in her stomach. It used to make her terribly sick, just to be within a mile of another human being.

She kicked at a rock a little too hard, and it sent a jolt of pain through her big toe. She winced, but ignored the throbbing foot. The pain in her gut was so much worse.

_It's all Terran's fault_.

Emily shook her head, a single tear running down her cheek. She flung herself onto a rotting log and burst into tears.

Terran was the only one who could take away the pain, at least for a few hours. Just long enough to make the rest bearable. Her perpetually happy and cheerful mood had masked the bitterness of the world. But then she met Ryan and ran off to Vegas with him.

_Don't worry, Em. I'll be back, and we can travel the world like we planned. You'll do fine without me, honey._

Terran's last words ran through Emily's mind so often she even started to believe it. But Terran would never come back, not for harsh and astringent Emily who hated everything. She even hated her own best friend, at times. Because she envied her ability to love and feel without the pain.

_Well damn Terran to hell. _

Emily dug her fingers into the wood of the log she was sitting on. She could feel splinters burrowing their way under her nails and pricking into the veins. But she once again ignored it. Why did it matter, anyway?

If only there was someone else like her, someone she could share this curse with. She dropped her head into her hands and waited for the sick to subside. Except it didn't. In fact, it got even worse. Why was it getting worse when she was miles away from civilization? She raised her head and looked around the forest, but the only other form of life she saw was a black squirrel.

"Emily Ross."

She felt him right after she heard him. He was feeling something she'd never experienced before. Hunting, and _enjoying_ it. It made her throat constrict at the same time her stomach heaved, causing her to choke on her own vomit. She was still spewing out half digested food when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spat one last time and looked up.

A man who looked to be in his late twenties stood above her. His dark hair and thick eyebrows, with a sharp jaw and glinting eyes made him look menacing. He even felt dangerous. Emily could feel her heart pounding and her gut wrenching as she backed away.

"Who the hell are you!" She snapped at him.

He smirked. Not a half smirk or a cute smirk or even a mocking smirk. It was a full out smug looking smirk, as if he was in on some sick joke that she wasn't allowed to know.

"You can call me Sylar, Emily." His voice was very deep, and it reminded her of a radio announcer or someone who uses their voice a lot on the television.

"How do you know my name?" She tried to sound brave and demanding, but it came out cracked and strangled. She was scared, more scared than she had ever been in her entire life. Including the weekend she was invited to Lucy Davis' horror movie marathon.

"Oh, I know a lot about you Emily. Including your little _gift._" He took a step toward her, and she in turn took one back, only to realize she was pressed against a tree. Her eyes widened in terror.

"Are you stalking me, you creeper?" She couldn't help it. Even in her horrified state, she had to accuse him of being a creeper.

He chuckled and started to pick at his fingernails. Seeing her opportunity. Emily jumped forward and punched him square on the mouth.

His lip had split and a small dribble of blood was running down his chin. Emily watched as the skin crawled over the cut and sealed itself together again.

"How…how did you…oh, my God." She whispered, "You're like me? You have a curse, too?"

The man who called himself Sylar shook his had and stepped toward Emily again, roughly pushing her back against the tree.

"I don't have a curse, Emily. I have a gift. My gift can be used to take others gifts. You see, I'm _special_, just like you. All of us are special."

Emily snorted, but it came out more like a gurgling cough because Sylar had rested his arm against her neck.

"Yeah, right. Are you trying to tell me there are _more_ people who have to deal with this? Poor bastards."

"Emily…" Sylar began, his voice filled with forewarning, "I usually do this quick and easy, but I haven't had any fun in a long time. And you _did_ punch me."

He suddenly grabbed my hand. For a second nothing happened, then she felt it. Cold splinters of pain laced up her forearm. When she looked down, the bottom half of her arm was blue. Ice shards were diving into her skin and freezing her blood and breaking the nerves. She watched as if it were happening to another person. With an agonizing crack, the lower half of her right arm fell off. Emily watched it fall to the dirt ground and shatter to hundreds of pieces.

She heard screaming, and it took a second to register that it was her making those wailing noises. She wasn't sure if it was pain or shock of seeing her arm fall off. Perhaps it was both.

Sylar took her other hand, which immediately felt hot. And this time she didn't look down until a burning smell reached her nose. With deliberate slowness, she peeked at her left arm.

The skin was charred and shriveled and black, like a stick left in the fire too long. Bits of bone were sticking out, and dark red muscle was hanging off in chucks. She gasped in horror, and her mouth filled with the smell of her own burnt flesh. The sour taste of bile joined the revolting stench.

She didn't have a chance to do anything before he punched her in the stomach several times. It knocked the wind out of her, and as she tried to breathe in, she felt blood filling her lungs. Gasping and choking, she started to cough it all up. But whenever she tried to inhale, more blood drowned her windpipe. She fell to her knees and tried to wipe at her mouth, but she had no arms to use. Still coughing, she fell onto her back and waited for death to come.

Through her tear filled eyes, she saw Sylar raise his hand, pointing his index finger at her head, still smiling.

And suddenly it was as if she had never felt pain before. Because this was so much more. Her skull was being ripped open and her brain was being exposed to the air. Her vision blacked out and she lost all connection with the rest of her body.

The last thing Emily Ross felt before she died was an exhilarating, elated, ecstatic, euphoric, overpowering _joy. _Terrible, wrong happiness that she would carry with her into the next life, wherever that was.

_You'll do fine without me, honey._

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**A/N: **Okay, please tell me how I did. I was really nervous, for some reason, writing this because I've never really done anything violent before. So, review...please?


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